“Can’t I go to the park to-day to feed the birds and squirrels?”
“I think you can,” replied Grandpapa, “and how should you like to take
Billy too?”
“Why, he can’t see, you know, so it wouldn’t be any fun for him,” said
Sam.
“But _you_ can see,” said Grandpapa, “and you can lend him your eyes.”
Sam looked so puzzled at this that his grandpapa explained: “You can
tell him what you see, and he can imagine how everything looks. He
will see the picture with his mind instead of with his eyes. That is
imagination.”
“It is a very strange thing,” said Sam, thoughtfully.
“You see that blind people think so much about what they cannot see,
that they make a great many pictures in their minds. If they were not
able to do that, they would be very lonely.”
Then Sam hurried down to ask Cook to give him some bread for the birds,
and to fill a basket with nuts for the squirrels. He also took some
canary and hemp seeds in a little package. By the time this was done,
the sleigh had driven up to the door, and Sam and his grandpapa started
on their expedition, Sam throwing kisses to his grandmamma at the
window so long as the house was in sight. Then they turned the corner
and soon reached the engine-house.
Billy’s pale face grew quite rosy when he was told of the sleigh-ride
he was to have, and in a moment his warm coat and cap were on and he
was led to the sleigh by Sam, who took great care of him for fear he
should make a misstep. The Fire-Dog followed closely at his heels, and
watched him put into the big sleigh and securely tucked in with the
warm fur robe.
“Can’t Jack go too?” asked Sam, as he saw the wistful expression in the
faithful dog’s eyes.
“Certainly, if he will,” replied Grandpapa.
Jack, however, was not the dog to neglect his duties, and in spite of
Sam’s and Billy’s alluring calls, he gently but firmly wagged his tail,
to express his regret at being obliged to refuse their invitation. As
they drove off, he looked mournfully after them so long as the sleigh
was in sight, then he gave a sigh of disappointment and lay down in
front of the engine-house, where he could enjoy the passing, and
occasionally pass the time of day with some dog friend, or make the
acquaintance of some stranger passing through the city, for Jack was a
social dog. Here, too, he was within hearing of the gong.
Meanwhile the sleigh continued on its way to the park, the faces of the
two little boys beaming with pleasure,—Billy’s at the unusual treat
of a sleigh-ride, and Sam’s from watching the happiness of the little
blind boy.
Sam was so eager to point out to Billy everything of interest to him,
that he was kept busy describing the objects of interest they passed.
The grandpapa’s face reflected the happiness in the two boys’ faces,
and his pleasant smile grew very tender as he saw the delight of the
blind boy in the scenes his poor blind eyes could not see.
When, as they passed a group of merry, shouting boys building a snow
fort which Sam reported faithfully to his little friend, and Billy,
quite excited at Sam’s description had wistfully asked, “Are they all
seeing children, Sam?” Sam, greatly distressed at the question, had
replied, “There is one fellow that looks kind of blind,—he’s having
an awfully good time, though;” then Grandpapa’s smile grew more tender
still, and he told the two boys about the schools where those who could
not see were taught to do whatever those who could see did.
“Can they play the way the seeing children do?” asked Billy, eagerly.
“Yes,” replied Grandpapa, “and we will send you to one of them.”
Billy was silent, and seemed to be thinking about something.
“Should you not like to go, Billy?” asked Sam’s grandpapa. “The
children are very happy there.”
“I would rather find my mother,” replied Billy, with a quiver of the
lips.
“We will find her, never fear,” replied kind-hearted Mr. Ledwell,
who could never bear to see anybody unhappy; and he began a story so
interesting that Billy was soon listening intently and had forgotten
for the time about the dear mother whom he wanted so much to see. By
the time the story was ended, the houses were farther and farther
apart, then snow-covered fields were passed, and Sam was kept busy
in describing the frozen ponds where boys and girls were skating and
playing, and the hillsides down which they were coasting. Then woods
with real forest trees appeared, and Sam explained that they were now
in the park. Here and there a gray squirrel’s bright eyes peeped down
upon the sleigh, and Sam reported just how they whisked their bushy
tails and ran from bough to bough, occasionally stopping to take a peep.
As they went farther into the park, a colony of sparrows would now and
then fly up from a clump of bushes, and hurry away as if the sleigh
contained a party of ferocious hunters, instead of two kind little boys
bringing them food. They took care to keep the sleigh in sight, for Sam
and his basket were old friends, and they knew the feast in store for
them. So they followed at a distance, for sparrows like to consider
themselves martyrs, and to act as if they were a persecuted set. This
is not to be wondered at, when we remember the way they have been
treated. Their nests have been torn down, they have been driven from
one place to another, and they have been made to feel that they are not
wanted anywhere.
Suddenly there arose on the still, frosty air discordant cries, and Sam
exclaimed,—
“There come the blue jays, Billy! Oh, you don’t know how handsome they
are, with their tufts standing straight up on their heads, and their
beautiful blue and white bodies and wings!”
“Are they as big as the pigeons?” asked Billy, for he had held the
little black and white lame pigeon in his arms and knew just what size
they were.
“Not quite so large as a pigeon,” replied Sam, “but fully as large as a
robin. They are awfully quarrelsome fellows, though; just hear how hard
they are scolding now.”
“Will they come and eat the crumbs?” asked Billy.
“Yes, and get the biggest share of them too,” replied Sam.
“We had better stop here,” said Mr. Ledwell, as they came to an open,
sunny spot.
So the sleigh stopped, and Sam and his grandpapa got out and helped
Billy out, who looked as happy and eager as Sam did. He did not look
about him, though, as Sam did, and see that the sparrows had stationed
themselves on neighboring trees, all ready to begin their feast so soon
as the crumbs were scattered. Neither did he see the bright flashes
of blue as the jays alighted on the trees near by, nor the tame and
nimble squirrels who came closer than the birds, hopping over the snow
to Sam’s very feet. All these things Sam explained, however, and Billy
understood.
Billy, too, threw the crumbs, and held nuts in his hand for the
squirrels, laughing with delight as he felt the trusting little
creatures eat from his fingers.
All at once arose a blithe song of “Chickadee-dee-dee-dee;” and a flock
of little chickadees came flying up, quite out of breath with their
hurry.
[Illustration]
“Chickadee-dee-dee-dee,” they all cried together, as they bustled about
to pick up what crumbs they could; and their song said as plainly as
words could have done,—
“Are we too late? I do hope you have left some for us.”
They were so sweet-tempered about it, not even losing temper when the
greedy sparrows darted in and seized crumbs from under their very
beaks, that it was impossible not to love them.
“Such dear little black caps as they have!” said Sam. “Here, you great
greedy jay, you let that little fellow’s crumbs alone!”
A blue jay had snatched a crumb away from one of the little chickadees,
but the chickadee only replied blithely, “Chickadee-dee-dee-dee!” which
in bird language meant: “No matter! Plenty more to be had! A little
thing like that does not matter.”
This both the little boys understood the chickadee to say, for those
who love animals learn to understand much of their language.
Then arose a hoarse cry of “Caw! caw! caw!” and several coal-black
crows flew down at a distance. They did not come boldly into the midst
of the group of feeding birds, because they preferred always to conduct
their business with great secrecy. One would occasionally walk on the
outskirts of the party with an air of great indifference, pretending
not to see what was going on; then suddenly he would dart in their
midst and seize upon a particularly large crumb, and, hurrying off with
it, stand with his back to the others, eating it in the slyest manner,
as if he expected at any moment to have it taken away from him.
There was one bird that even Sam’s bright eyes did not see. He had a
timid look, as if he could not make friends so easily as the social
chickadees. He crept along a large tree that grew near the spot where
the birds and squirrels were feeding, and creeping in the same cautious
manner on the under side of a large bough that stretched out toward
the spot, hung head downward, watching intently what went on beneath
him. None of the birds took the slightest notice of him, but his quick
eyes glanced at them all, and finally rested on the face of the blind
boy, who patiently listened to the explanations of the kind friend who
loaned him the use of his eyes.
This shy little bird who watched the two boys so narrowly, was the
nuthatch. As soon as the sleigh had driven away, the nuthatch came down
from the tree, creeping along the trunk, head downward, and seized upon
the fine kernel of a nut a squirrel was eating.
The chickadees were loudly singing the praises of the visitors who
had brought them such a delicious treat. Even the blue jays, who were
usually very chary of their praise, had a pleasant word for their
friend Sam, who so often brought them food.
“There was a strange boy with him,” cawed an old crow. “Who knows
anything about him?”
“He was not a seeing child,” chirped the nuthatch. “He could not see
the blue sky, nor the trees, nor any of us. Who can he be?”
“We know all about him,” twittered the sparrows. “It is the blind boy
who lives in the engine-house. Fire-Jack saved his life; we see him
very often.”
Then an incessant twittering arose from the sparrows, who were in such
a hurry to tell all they knew that they all talked at once.